Anniversaries
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: This story will follow Rayna & Deacon through their anniversaries; I guess there's not much else to say except there will be many of them, as they rightly deserve.
1. Paper

_Paper_

* * *

 _"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
so I love you because I know no other way." - Pablo Neruda_

* * *

The wind outside the cabin was moving the lake, ripples darting through the water as the wind swept its surface. Inside the cabin, the wood-burning stove was providing a soft glow and warmth, illuminating the room just enough to see.

Deacon Claybourne was prone on the couch, his face toward the ceiling as he strummed his guitar, haphazardly draped across his chest. Rayna Jaymes was next to him, her body half on his, her arm draped across his stomach.

Deacon stopped strumming the guitar, "I can't believe you didn't want to go away this week." He said, taking his guitar and propping it up against the couch. He ran his hand gently down her arm.

She took his hand in hers, "As much as I would love being on a tropical beach with you, there's nowhere else on this earth I'd rather be today than here, in this cabin, half naked with you." She scooted up on the couch, so her head was buried in the crook of his neck as her hand rested on his bare chest.

He touched the ends of her hair, toying with them as she sighed contentedly, enjoying the way the sensation went all the way to the root.

"I can't believe it's been a year already." He whispered, his mouth against her hair. "And then sometimes I can't believe it hasn't been longer."

She glanced up at him, "What do you mean?"

He sat up, so his back was pressed against the arm of the couch—she adjusted herself accordingly, still leaning against him, but sitting up, his arm around her shoulders.

He considered her question, working his lip with his teeth before he answered, "I guess I mean… it feels like my heart has been married to you for damn near my whole life."

She smiled as she leaned in and pressed a kiss against his cheek. She felt her eyes burn, "Me too." She said, no longer afraid to admit that for most of her life she'd been in some form of love with Deacon, even with another man's ring on her finger.

He turned his head and found her lips with his, kissing her gently. He pulled away, and cupped the right side of her face with his hand. "I love you." He whispered, staring at her, his gaze so intense and yet somehow so gentle. _Reverent_ , she remembered thinking, the first time he'd looked at her like that.

She _knew_ then, when she put a name to the look, back when she was 17 years old—she would never get over him. She'd spent so much of her life after things went wrong between them trying to pretend he didn't look at her like that anymore, trying to convince him _not_ to look at her like that anymore, even though that was the exact opposite of what she wanted:

 _You can't look at me like that anymore_ , she'd told him once, right after she married Teddy.  
 _Like what?_ He'd asked, smirking.  
 _Like I'm yours_. She whispered, so no one rushing around them could hear.  
 _You are._ He'd said simply.  
She didn't deny it, couldn't.  
At her open-mouthed silence, he smiled, shoved his hands deep in his pockets and walked away.

It all seemed so silly to her now, all the pretending they did back then. She was glad for that.

"I love you, too," She whispered back, smiling. She leaned her head back against the couch.

"Let's see…" Deacon glanced at the clock on the wall, squinting to make it out in the dim light. "Last year at this time we were…" He closed his eyes, remembering.

Rayna smiled as she spoke, following his gaze to the clock, "We were having our first dance right about now."

Deacon opened his eyes, "That we were." Smiling, he stood up. "Dance with me, baby." He offered her his hand.

She smiled, and took it, standing up to join him next to the stove; the firelight threw their shadows around the room as they moved together, making a small circle in the living room as Deacon sang in her ear the song he'd played for her on their wedding night.

With anyone else Rayna would have felt awkward, dancing to no music—but she and Deacon had seen each other in every light imaginable throughout the years, so her heart just felt full, instead of embarrassed.

When Deacon stopped singing, he whispered, "Just like last year." He said, kissing her ear.

"With fewer articles of clothing involved." She said, her bare chest pressed against his.

He nodded, biting her ear softly, "I like it like that."

"Me too," She agreed.

He pulled back from her and smiled, "Presents?"

Rayna nodded, as they both sat back on the couch. She crossed her legs underneath her and turned to face him.

"I want you to open mine last," Rayna said, handing him a small box with gold wrapping paper.

"Alright," Deacon agreed, as he handed her a larger box with red wrapping paper; she pulled it into her lap.

She slid her finger under the paper, and eased the wrapping paper from the box. She looked at him as she opened the box, and then glanced down as she moved the tissue paper to find a picture frame displaying something she immediately perceived as soundwaves. She pulled the frame out of the box, pushed the box to the floor, and cradled the frame in her lap. She glanced up at Deacon, who was watching her expectantly, before she returned her attention to the gift.

She ran her fingers over the glass, tracing the soundwaves, and then began reading the text at the bottom. When she realized what it was, she gasped, and then looked at Deacon. "Is this…" Her fingers traced over the text now, the lyrics to "No One Will Ever Love You"

Deacon nodded—"It's the soundwaves of the first recording we ever made together." He smiled.

"How did you…?" She trailed off, glancing between him and the frame.

"Watty had it, kept it all these years," Deacon said, then he chuckled, "And Maddie taught me how to use this site called Essie or Etsy or something like that." He shrugged.

She set it gently on the coffee table, and leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck. She planted a kiss on his lips, and pulled back, "It's Etsy, babe, and I love it. It's perfect." She kissed him again, and then pressed her forehead against his, "Thank you." She pulled away, "Okay, now your turn," She said, excitement edging its way into her voice.

Deacon smiled, and picked up the box he had in his lap; tentatively, he began removing the gold paper from the outside of the box. He shook it a little, noticing it felt uncommonly light. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and then returned his attention to the box. Opening the lid, he saw a manila folder inside. Confused, he pulled it out.

Thumbing it open, he glanced at her, "Did you get me legal documents, Ray?"

She just stared at him, offering him a small smile, waiting for him to figure it out and connect the dots. He took the documents out, staring at them as his eyes scanned them over. Rayna watched as the wheels turned while he made his way further into the documents until he reached the last two: a judge's order, and a scanned copy of her driver's license.

"Ray… did you…" He glanced up at her, his eyes glistening, "Really?" He asked on an exhale.

Rayna shrugged, and then nodded, "It's hyphenated, but…" She trailed off, raising her eyebrows and smiling at him.

Deacon closed the envelope and set it on the coffee table. "But, you _took my last name_." He grinned.

Rayna laughed, "I took your last name." She confirmed.

Deacon tossed the box on the floor, and leaned in to kiss her. He grabbed her by the back of her head, and pulled her to him, his mouth moving against hers.

"I couldn't have asked for a better gift, Ray." He whispered against her lips.

"It felt right," She said, kissing him. She deepened the kiss, running her tongue over his, running her fingers through his hair. She heard him moan against her. "Know what else feels right?" She said, sliding her hand along his leg. "This." She closed her hand over him through his jeans.

"I think it's time for me to make love to…" He trailed off, nipping her bottom lip with his teeth, "Mrs. Claybourne for the first time."

Rayna smiled, reaching for the button on his jeans. "I think it is."

Deacon was slow and tender with her, taking his time, exploring every inch of her body with his hands, his mouth. He watched the way she moved underneath him, watched the way her face changed as he moved inside of her. She'd given him an incredible gift today—he knew how important her last name was to her, he knew what it meant that she would do this for him. When the panting, touching, and kissing was done, they were side by side on the couch, both breathing heavier.

Deacon ran his fingers up her spine, before laying his hand flat on her back, enjoying the feeling of her lungs taking in air underneath his palm. He knew he would spend his life stealing her breath like this, as long as she let him.

He kissed her hairline, "Happy first anniversary, baby." He whispered, his voice quiet in the cabin.

She smiled, her eyes growing heavy as she felt his warmth against her, "Happy first anniversary, Deacon," She said, pressing her body into him.

Deacon sighed, glancing down to see her eyes close in the dim light of the stove. Firelight danced up the walls, and he gently drew designs on her back with his fingernail as she drifted to sleep against him. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of Rayna's warm body against him, her arm draped over his midsection-a song came to mind; he smiled as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 _A/N: This is a series that will follow Rayna & Deacon through their wedding anniversaries (because that other thing didn't happen, obviously). Not sure how long we'll go-until I get tired of writing it, or you get tired of reading it, I suppose. _


	2. Cotton

_Cotton_

* * *

" _In all the world,_ _  
_ _There is no heart for me like yours._ _  
_ _In all the world,_ _  
_ _There is no love for you like mine." – Maya Angelou_

* * *

"I can't believe we have a daughter graduating from high school in a couple of months," Rayna said, sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. She reached down and undid her shoes, and then leaned back into the chair, kicking them off and stretching her legs out in front of her.

She was finally able to talk about Maddie's conception to Deacon without the underpinning of guilt coursing through her body, without her brain screaming at her about the time lost because of her choice. When she'd made the decision eighteen years ago, she didn't think that day would ever come, where the guilt wouldn't crush her—she was happy to discover that it finally had, just this past year. She'd even told him about it, the night they'd made their beautiful Maddie. After that conversation, Rayna was finally able to begin to let the guilt and shame go. She hadn't actually realized she'd been clinging to them for so long, even during their marriage, until she told him the truth about that night.

 _Was it…nice?_ He'd asked out of the blue one day, _The night Maddie was…_  
Immediately, she started to cry, _Deacon, it was… beautiful, and loving, and tender._  
 _Tell me about it._ He pleaded, his eyes searching hers.  
So, she did.

"I know," He said, "It's hard to believe we're old enough to have an eighteen-year-old, looking as good as we do." He chuckled, "Some of us more than others." He said, letting his gaze travel from her bare feet up, taking in her long legs, her short dress, her curled hair.

Rayna laughed, her eyes shining,"You're not so bad yourself," She crossed her legs in the chair, "In fact, I find you even more attractive than I did eighteen years ago, if you can believe that."

Deacon thought back to how much time they spent in bed with one another these days, "I can." He stepped towards her, and crouched down next to the chair, "Every time I think I couldn't possibly be _more_ attracted to you, you prove me wrong. And you've been doing it since you were sixteen." He placed a kiss on her knee, and looked up at her, "Tonight on stage, I thought you were the most beautiful you've ever been to me." He smiled softly, "But, here you are," He whispered, running his hand up her leg. "Proving me wrong again."

She sighed, enjoying the feeling of his touch, of his calloused hand sliding up her smooth leg.

"This has been a good tour," She said, smiling at him. She reached her hand down and scraped her fingernails through his hair.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of her fingernails on his scalp, "Mmm," He agreed, "Who knew our album would hit the charts like that?" He asked, shaking his head slightly. "Best album launch in ten years, in any genre?"

Rayna chuckled and tugged on his hair a little, "I did." She turned her head to the side, "People _love_ our love." She let his hair go, "Not as much as _I_ love our love, though."

They'd been playing arenas, selling them out every night, just the two of them up on stage. The tour they did for years, but this time with so many miles behind them and so many people in the seats. Tonight, they played at the Ryman—a special anniversary show that sold out in two minutes flat when it was announced, and had been livestreamed all over the country. They'd considered going away this year, but when Bucky had brought the idea to them, it somehow felt right—to be where it all began for them: on stage together. Bucky pitched the Bridgestone, but Rayna vetoed that, saying something more intimate was necessary.

Deacon edged his hand under the hem of Rayna's dress, his fingernails lightly toying with the skin there, "I think it's been my favorite, this tour."

Rayna sighed at his touch, "Me too." She uncrossed her legs, "Speaking of favorites, I've got a gift for you."

Deacon dropped his hand, and Rayna stood. "Wait right here." She said, holding her hand up.

Deacon smiled, stood, and eased himself into the chair she just vacated. He watched as she eased her way into the closet, enjoying the view her short dress afforded him.

While she was gone, Deacon's mind wandered over the last two years he'd spent as a husband. As _her_ husband. He thought about the mundane things—the school concerts, the barbecues, the carpool duty, the grocery store trips. If you'd have told him at nineteen that he would spend over a decade craving these small normal moments, you would have been on the receiving end of a swift laugh. He was dreaming of his name in lights back then, and that was the only thing that occupied his mind. Until he met a certain red-headed singer with a beautiful voice, a feisty spirit, and legs that damn near needed their own postal code for how long they were, that is. When he met her, his dream started to change, little by little, until he didn't realize _how much_ he wanted it until he found that couldn't have it.

He heard the light flick off in the closet, and he was momentarily struck by the fact that this was his life he was living now, finally, after all these years. His dream come true was in soccer games, Tuesday night dinners at home, and a movie on the couch with the woman he loved.

When she emerged from the closet, his eyes were drawn immediately to her legs, bare from just above mid-thigh. His eyes traveled up the rest of her body, and his mouth fell open when she saw what she was wearing: just one t-shirt.

He felt emotion jump into his throat, "You still have that?" He asked, his eyes taking in the writing on the front of the shirt—it was his favorite shirt, from ages ago. She'd worn it to bed the first time she ever stayed over at his place, and he never saw it again except when it was on her. Which, it turned out, was exactly how he liked it best. When they broke up and she didn't return it with the rest of his stuff, he thought about asking about it, but he assumed she'd gotten rid of it, burned it or thrown it out to try to erase the memories of all the time spent in that shirt, all the love made in that shirt.

It was dark black, with a silver square on the front reading _Johnny Cash Silver_ , a promotional shirt from the 1979 release of "Silver."

Deacon breathed out, "Let me see you in that," The way he did the first time he'd ever seen her in it.

Smiling, she turned around. Deacon's eyes traveled up the back of her legs, taking in the words on the back of the shirt—a letter from Cash to his mother. Rayna turned back around to face him, smiling.

Deacon stood from the chair and moved to where she was, "Here you are," His voice was thick, "Proving me wrong again." He reached out and touched the cotton of the shirt, so soft beneath his fingers, his fingers skating along her abdomen, "I can't believe you kept it all these years."

Rayna reached her hand up to touch his face, her fingers smoothing the stubble there, "Of course I did, Deacon. It reminded me of you." She ran her thumb over his bottom lip, "It reminded me of _us_." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, then she moved her thumb and kissed him again. "And now I'm giving it back to you, finally, after all these years. Happy anniversary, babe."

Deacon smiled against her lips, "You know," he kissed her, "To give it back to me, you're going to have to…" He trailed off, his hands skirting further under the hem, feeling her bare flesh. "Take it off."

Grinning, she stepped back from him and reached her hands up to grab the hem of the shirt. She stared at him as she pulled it over her head. When it was off, she stretched her hand out, offering him the shirt.

Deacon shook his head, his eyes falling to her naked chest, his brain catching up to the fact that she was standing in front of him in panties and nothing else, "Uh uh." He said, "Keep it." He stepped forward and snaked his hand around her waist, pulling her to him.

"Mmm," She hummed, feeling him against her, his need already plainly evident through his jeans. "Okay," She dropped the t-shirt to the floor and looped her arms around his neck, kissing him. She ran her hands over his shoulders, and began working on the buttons of his shirt. When they were unbuttoned, she smoothed her hands underneath the shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it, and dropped it to the floor.

His tongue slid into her mouth, and she moaned against him, sliding hers over his tongue in response. She reached down for his belt buckle, but fumbled with it. She sighed in frustration against his mouth, "I want these off," She said.

He chuckled and moved his hand to his belt buckle, leaning forward to kiss her as he unhooked his belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

Her hands met his at the zipper, "Mmm, I'll do that," She teased his lip with her teeth as she took over, drawing the zipper down. "That's better." She reached her hand inside his jeans, grasping him through the fabric of his briefs. He gasped against her mouth, and then pressed himself further into her hand.

Deacon spun her around, until she was up against the bed, the back of her thighs touching the edge. She was still stroking him and he reached down and stilled her hand, stepping away from her slightly toward the head of the bed. Her chest was flushed from arousal, rising and falling with her rapid breaths. Reading his intent, she pushed herself up from her leaning position against the bed. Smiling at her, Deacon gripped the comforter and pulled it back, in one sweeping gesture.

Rayna was staring at him, but when she saw he was looking at the bed instead of at her, she followed his gaze. When she saw what he was looking at, she laughed.

"Are those new sheets?" She asked, moving closer to the bed.

"They are." He confirmed, pushing his jeans from his body and stepping closer to her.

She reached her hand out and ran her fingers along the edge of the bed, feeling the softness of the sheets.

"Wow," She said, " _Very_ nice." She said.

Deacon smirked at her, "Yeah? You like those?" He asked, bending his head to the crook of her neck. His tongue darted out to taste the flesh there. He placed his hand on her lower back and lowered her down to the bed.

She adjusted herself so she was flat on the sheets, and he propped himself up on one elbow above her. He lowered his mouth to hers, sweeping his tongue inside before he pulled away and pressed soft kisses to her jawline, and then to her neck. His tongue traced a pattern through the valley of her breasts, and then he planted soft kisses on her stomach, speaking around each kiss. "I did a lot of research on these sheets, you know."

She ran her hand down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath her skin. "Oh, you did, did you?" She asked, smiling.

"Mmhm," he nodded, kissing her stomach. He kissed along the edge of her panties, speaking against her skin, "Egyptian cotton's long fibers produce sheets that are thin and sumptuous yet extremely strong and long-lasting." He recited the words he read on the website, making them sound oddly tantalizing.

Rayna laughed, arching her back slightly as his tongue ran over her flesh, "Is that right?"

Deacon nodded, "It is." He brought his hand up to the waistband of her panties, and pushed them down over her hips, "I went with percale because it stays cooler," He eased her panties further down her legs, and dropped them on the floor next to the bed. His hands glided up her legs where he gently spread her knees apart, and then dipped his head. She could feel his breath on her as he spoke, "And I intend to get you _very_ hot and bothered in this bed on a nightly basis."

His mouth was on her then, and she gasped, enjoying the way he moved his mouth against her, kissing and licking her. "Deacon," She breathed out as she fisted her hands in his hair, knowing it drove him wild when she held him close to her. When he slid a finger into her, she tilted her head back into the headboard, letting out a small whimper.

Deacon chuckled with his mouth still pressed against her, enjoying the way she reacted to his touch like it was just as exciting as their first night together, so long ago now. She moaned in the back of her throat, and then tugged on his hair, "Inside." She said, breathless.

He kissed her once more, running his tongue along her, and then shifted up on the bed. Rayna adjusted herself, and then reached for his briefs. They pushed them down together, and he kicked them off.

"Inside." She said again, as he positioned himself over her. She lightly nipped his shoulder.

Grabbing himself, he positioned himself at her entrance and slid into her, slowly. She sighed softly at the feeling, reaching her arms around his back, pressing her nails into his skin. He lifted her leg and draped it over his hip, his movements slow and deliberate. Her breath came faster as she raised her hips up to meet him, matching his pace. His name on her lips spurred him along, and he began moving faster inside of her, reaching down to capture her mouth with his own. His hand reaching up to her breast—at his touch, she cried out.

Deacon knew her body inside and out, he could tell she was getting close, and so was he. He thrust deeper, slower, wanting her orgasm to hit deep and heavy.

"I love you, baby," he whispered, "Come for me." He dropped his hand in between their bodies and brushed his fingers against her, stroking her. She threw her head back, and as the sensation overwhelmed her, she clutched frantically at his back. "That's it," He whispered, "Come for me." His gruff voice against her ear sent her over the edge and she cried out, a long low moan rippling through her body as she clenched around him.

Deacon thrust into her faster, and soon found his release, spilling into her on a ragged cry of her name. Shuddering, he collapsed against her, his breathing heavy, their bodies sweaty from the effort.

"That was…" Rayna sighed, ghosting her hand up his back.

"Yeah." He agreed, his body still half on top of hers, his head resting on her chest.

"Mission accomplished," Rayna said, smiling at him. "Consider me thoroughly hot and bothered."

Deacon chuckled, "You and me, both." He said, his finger lightly circling her nipple. He placed a tender kiss to her breast, and then lifted his head to look at her, "I love you." He said, simply.

She raised her head brought her lips to his, kissing him. She rolled out of bed then, and grabbed his old shirt, sliding it over her body. She smiled, and crawled back in bed with him, resting her head on his shoulder.

He smiled, tracing the edge of the logo on the front of the shirt, "If they ask me if it's true, that I still love you..." He whispered the words to the ceiling, the same way he'd done all those years ago, the first time she'd ever worn it.

"I'll say it's true," She whispered back, her hand draped across his stomach.

He sighed, his heart full, listening to the silence around him he thought about a quote he read from Johnny once: _When it gets dark and everybody's gone home and the lights are turned off, it's just me and her._

"Happy second anniversary, baby." He murmured, and the gratitude in his words filled every space in the room.


	3. Leather

_Leather_

* * *

 _"I love her and it is the beginning of everything." – F. Scott Fitzgerald_

* * *

Rayna stood looking in the mirror, taking her earrings off. She glanced behind her to see Deacon walking up slowly behind her—he wrapped his arms around her waist, his fingers splaying out over her hips. He nuzzled her neck as she tilted her head to the side to grant him better access. He planted soft open-mouthed kisses where her neck met her shoulder and then rested his chin on the spot, looking at her through the mirror.

"You're so beautiful." He said, his voice a whisper, "Is this my gift, baby? It _is_ just past midnight, you know." He asked, his fingers moving along the hem of her top.

She looked down and then laughed—they'd just finished a benefit show, and she was still wearing her outfit: a black leather bustier and tight black pants.

It reminded Deacon of the outfit she'd worn to perform at the CMAs, the day he'd found out about Maddie. He remembered that outfit, a rhinestone encrusted blue bustier number that made her breasts look phenomenal—it was seared into his mind particularly because even through his haze of anger and fear, he'd still found her incredibly sexy.

He drew his hand up to trace his finger over the swell of her breast, pushed up by the bustier, "Is that your plan? Are you just going to wear sexy things for me to celebrate our anniversaries?" He scraped his teeth over her neck, and then soothed the spot with a kiss, "Because I gotta tell you, baby, I'm okay with that."

Rayna laughed, raising her eyebrows at him in the mirror, "You are?" She asked, her voice lilting.

Deacon nuzzled her neck again, "Mmhmm." He nodded, "Very okay."

Rayna spun in his arms and then looped her hands around his neck, kissing him deeply. He moaned against her mouth, pulling her tightly to him. She pulled her mouth away from his, "I'm glad to hear that, but no, babe. This," She waved her hand over the top half of her body, "Isn't your gift." She kissed him quickly, "Though it is _always_ yours." She pulled away from him, heading out of their bathroom and into the bedroom.

Deacon chuckled, following her, " _I'm_ glad to hear _that_."

Rayna walked into the closet and returned with a box, wrapped in pastel blue paper, "This," She said, "Is your gift." She smiled as she walked over to him, "Seeing as it's _technically_ our anniversary, would you like to open it now?"

Deacon waggled his eyebrows, his eyes falling to her chest in the bustier, "There's _something else_ I'd like to open right now." But he reached for the box in her hands and sat down on the bench at the end of their bed.

Rayna laughed, and sat down on the other end of the bench, tucking her legs up underneath herself. She leaned forward as he slid his finger underneath the wrapping paper. He paused to look up at her, his eyes focusing on the cleavage exposed to him. Rayna shook her head, "Deacon Claybourne, you are insatiable."

Pulling the wrapping paper from the box, he laughed, "Only for you, Ray."

He dropped the paper on the floor and opened the box, moving the white tissue paper away. Inside, there was a rustic-looking book, tied with two leather strings. He took the book out, running his palm over the soft leather. It was beautiful, and it reminded him of the first songwriting journal he'd ever given her—one he'd made for her for her seventeenth birthday.

Smiling at her, he untied the strings at the side, flipping the cover back. His breath hitched as he saw the first picture: a sixteen-year-old Rayna and a nineteen-year-old Deacon with a guitar across his lap. They were perched on two stools on a tiny stage staring at each other as they sang, the intensity between them evident even in a photograph that was over two decades old. The photograph was slightly discolored, but Deacon could see the colors vividly, the memory of the first time they'd ever performed together playing back in his mind.

He reached out and ran his finger across the photo, the plastic protecting it from his fingerprint, "Baby," He whispered, his finger tracing over her face. She was so young back then, and so was he. They didn't know what was ahead for them, and they didn't need to know—they were too wrapped up in one another, even back then. He felt his eyes burning, and he looked up at her to see tears in her eyes, too.

"The first picture anyone ever took of us," She said, smiling.

Deacon pressed his fingers flat against their faces, and then turned the page—another one of them, his arm slung across her shoulder, her head leaning against his shoulder, her arm around his waist. There was a fine sheen of sweat dusting both of their faces, their hair at the temples stuck to their skin; it was taken after a particularly invigorating show, one that ended with the two of them in a supply closet, their sweaty bodies moving furiously against each other, breathily begging for release right after this picture was taken.

He flipped through more pages: A picture of them in swimsuits by a lake, a picture of Deacon with his first fancy guitar, a picture of them before her first CMA award nomination and win, a picture of them in front of the cabin, a picture of them before her first Grammy nomination, a picture of them before her first Grammy win.

"God, baby," He said, running his finger over their pictures, taking in her sequin gown and his suit, "We were such babies."

He flipped through a few more: a picture of the two of them at a county fair, Rayna clutching a stuffed animal he'd won for her, a picture of them standing under her name outside her first arena tour—he noticed how happy they looked, even though he knew that some of these were taken when he was on shaky ground, when he was staying out too late, drinking too much, running too far. When his arm was around her, he couldn't be anything _but_ happy, even back then, even after everything he'd seen.

He wanted to apologize to her again, tell her he was sorry for everything he'd ever done—but she'd told him earlier that year that he needed to stop apologizing, that he needed to let it go because whatever roads they'd walked down, they'd still ended up here—husband and wife, wearing each other's rings, sleeping together every night. _That_ she had told him _is what matters_ , _not the hell we put each other through to get here_.

He turned the page, and felt his stomach leap—for the first time, it wasn't the two of them or just him holding a guitar. It was him, _and Maddie_. They were on a tour bus, Maddie was about six months old, and she was asleep, _in his arms_. He was gazing down at her, a soft tender look on his face. He recognized it immediately: _love_.

His mouth dropped open and he looked up at Rayna—he hadn't seen this picture before.

Rayna was weeping softly, "You loved her even back then." She said, her voice quiet.

Deacon smiled, crying too, "I'd love anything that came from you, Ray." He whispered, turning the page.

A picture of Maddie and Deacon at her first birthday party; she was clutching a stuffed guitar to her chest, crying while Deacon was laughing. A picture of two-year-old Maddie, mid-wobble, tugging on Deacon's hand as they walked up to a venue. Three-year-old Maddie staring at Deacon, wide eyed, as he strummed his guitar. A four-year-old Maddie standing next to Deacon with a ukulele, a pink bow haphazardly taped to its front. A five-year-old Maddie with a ukulele in her lap, her little fingers wrapped around the neck as a patient Deacon sat in front of her giving her first lesson.

And so it went: pictures of the life they'd shared, even when he hadn't realized what, exactly, he'd been sharing—laughing, happy memories of quiet moments between them, an unconventional family—the only one he had ever known.

Daphne came along, Deacon holding her in the hospital room on the day she was born, tiny, pink, and sleeping, her pink and white hat pulled over her tiny forehead.

The girls grew up, and the lines around his own face got deeper, until finally a picture of the day they became a family for real—Rayna's side swept hair, her white dress, him smiling in a suit, and _his daughters_. The last picture was taken last week as they moved Maddie into her dorm room at Belmont, the four of them huddled in the tiny room, smiling and yet somehow on the verge of tears.

"Rayna," He said, breathing it out, "Thank you." And she knew he meant for more than just the album.

Rayna wiped a tear away and then looked at him, her hands on her knees, she sniffled a bit, "I can't believe Maddie actually went to college, and that we have a daughter old enough to _be in college_ ," She laughed, "Who knew the trick was to pretend we didn't _want_ her to go to college?" She shook her head, "She's stubborn, that one."

Deacon grinned, "Well, she _is_ your daughter."

Rayna laughed again, reaching out to push him on the shoulder, "Oh, no. She gets _that_ from you."

Deacon closed the album, taking care to tie the leather straps back together, "With _both of us_ , she didn't stand a chance." He sighed, "And Daphne, _dating_?"

Rayna sighed, "We should have really rethought our decision to tell the girls you and I met when I was sixteen." She shrugged, "Or at least rethought the part of the story where I fell half in love with you the moment I saw you."

Deacon set the photo album on the bench between them, "Maybe so," He said, standing up and reaching underneath his side of the bed to retrieve a box, "But, then, that's one of my favorite parts of the whole story."

She laughed, "Mine too, babe, mine too."

Deacon set a box in front of her, wrapped in silver paper, a turquoise bow on the side. "Happy third anniversary, baby."

Rayna smiled, and pulled the box into her lap. Unwrapping it, she peeled the top off and when she saw what was inside, she gasped—"Deacon!" She said, reaching her hand in the box. It was a pair of dark brown boots, turquoise flowers blooming all over. She reached out and ran her hand over them, "How did you…?" She asked, pulling one out and examining it.

These were her favorite boots she'd ever had—they were the first pair she'd ever bought for herself with money she'd earned, and she'd worn them constantly until they were tragically lost in a luggage fiasco on her second tour. She'd cried about them for an hour, felt silly about crying about them for an hour, and then tried desperately to find another pair only to discover that they'd been discontinued.

"I found them at a consignment store in Alabama," He answered, laughing, "Just happened to be walking by and saw them in the window." He grinned, "Fate."

Rayna pulled the other boot out, dropped them to the floor and slid her bare feet inside, "Like everything else between us." She whispered, watching as the boots fit on her feet. "I can't believe you remembered these boots." She said, shaking her head. It had been nearly twenty years now since she'd lost them.

Deacon laughed, watching as she stood up to walk in them, "As I recall, I saw them flying right by my head a couple times here and there. A man doesn't forget something like that."

Rayna turned to face him, her face coloring slightly, "I was a bit of a hothead back then." She said, leaning down to kiss him.

Deacon raised his eyebrows, " _Back then_?" He laughed, returning her kiss.

She slapped him lightly on the arm, "Shut up," She slipped her tongue in his mouth and then pulled away, "Besides," She spoke against his mouth, "I think you'll remember what usually came _after_ those boots flying by your head…" Her voice dropped suggestively. "You."

Deacon chuckled and then kissed her, slipping his hand into her hair and snaking his arm around her waist; he pulled her down to him, "Oh, I remember," He said, his hand reaching up to cup her breast, "It was usually with your legs wrapped around my waist, your back up against the wall, right where those boots you'd thrown made the scuff marks." He ran his teeth along her bottom lip, tugging lightly.

"Mmm," She murmured against his lips, "Worth it, then?"

Deacon nodded; kissing her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, standing up. Rayna kissed him back, wrapping her legs around his waist as he turned them around until she was pressed against the wall, her ankles locked behind his lower back.

"Do you want me like this tonight, babe?" She asked, pressing herself into him.

He could feel her heat against his abdomen and he dipped his head, sucking on the flesh exposed over her bustier, "Yes," He said around a kiss, then slid his hands around to grab her ass, pulling her into him, "I want you like this, baby." He answered; the truth was that he wanted her any way he could have her. He always had.

Inhaling sharply, she unhooked her legs and he set her back on the ground. She quickly extricated herself from her pants, kicking them off along with her panties as she shoved her feet back in the boots. Deacon undid his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers and stepped out of them.

Rayna grabbed his shirt and pulled the snaps open, running her fingers over his chest.

Deacon pushed Rayna against the wall, kissing her deeply. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her up. Rayna lifted her legs up around him, steadying herself as she locked her boot clad ankles around his back again, moaning as she felt him against her center.

Positioning himself, he entered her in one stroke and she gasped against his mouth, tilting her head back so it fell against the wall. Deacon reached into her bustier and cupped her, his fingers circling her nipple as he thrust into her.

It was a little rough, fevered, and Rayna's hands explored his back, running over his rippling muscles as she pushed his shirt down his arms where he shrugged it off, and her hands continued roaming his body, delighting in the way he felt under her palms.

When she was close, panting against his lips, Deacon reached his hand in between them and brushed his thumb over her. She cried out and then bit down on his shoulder to stifle her moan as her orgasm ripped through her. The feeling of her teeth on his shoulder, her warmth flooding around him, spurred Deacon on, and he thrust his hips faster and harder until he finally followed her over the edge, her name on his lips, eliciting a second moan from her as she bit his shoulder gently, then kissed it.

When he came down, Deacon walked back until he sat them down on the bench so she was straddling him. He kissed her deeply, his hand trailing up her stomach to cup her breast, his finger brushing her softly through the leather.

"Thank you, Ray," He said, quietly, "For everything," He smoothed his hand over her hair and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, and she knew he wasn't talking just about this life they'd come to share.

"I love you," She whispered against his mouth, "I always have," She nodded her head to the photo album sitting beside them, "And I always will." She pressed her lips to his forehead, "Happy anniversary, babe." She leaned down and whispered in his ear, "And I have to tell you… You were right, this _is_ part of your present," She pressed herself into his hand.

"Oh, really?" Deacon's voice was husky. He picked her up again and walked her over to the bed, lightly setting her down. He pushed her back so she was lying flat, and his hands moved to the hooks that trailed down the front of her bustier, "Then by all means, let me _unwrap it_."


	4. Fruit, Flowers

_Fruit/Flowers_

* * *

 _Even  
After  
All this time  
The Sun never says to the Earth,_

 _"You owe me."_

 _Look_  
 _What happens_  
 _With a love like that,_  
 _It lights the whole sky._  
 _― Hafiz_

* * *

Moving boxes surrounded Rayna where she sat on the floor, the smell of cardboard and coffee infiltrating the unseasonably warm morning. Rayna ripped a strip of clear packing tape off a box and peered inside: _books_. She wasn't sure when, precisely, they'd collected so many books, but Rayna swore half the boxes they'd moved had been labeled 'books.' They could start their own private library someday, if they wanted.

Deacon came around the corner, two cups of coffee in his hand. Sipping one, he handed the other to Rayna and then flicked the air conditioning on.

Rayna sighed, little wisps of her hair that had escaped her ponytail billowing around her face. "So much for being completely unpacked by our anniversary." She smiled at him apologetically.

Deacon leaned against the wall, looking over the rim of his glasses, "Well, the hottest label head in town," He grinned, "And I _do_ mean the hottest," He waggled his eyebrows, "Doesn't have time to do mundane things like _unpack_." He took his glasses off and tossed them on the marble kitchen counter.

"And neither does the hottest guitar player in town," She smiled at him, her eyes traveling appreciatively over his form, his grey t-shirt clinging to his chest.

Deacon grinned, "Well, that's true," He shrugged, looking around at the boxes, "Besides, baby, I'd happily live among piles of boxes for the rest of my life, long as it was with you."

Rayna smiled, "I know, babe, I just… sometimes all I can _smell_ is cardboard, and it's driving me a little insane." She laughed, "And," She lifted a flap on a box, then let it close again, "I didn't want to spend our anniversary unpacking."

She looked around at all the boxes and sighed. They'd been fully moved into their new house for a little over a month and they still had to walk around a veritable maze of half-unpacked boxes to get anywhere. Rayna loved this house, but she didn't miss walking around unobstructed—she'd lost count of how many times she'd tripped and nearly fallen, her boots had scuffed the hardwood more than once. Still, she'd never lamented the decision to move, not for a minute.

With Maddie in college and doing surprisingly well there given how ardently she'd protested even going in the first place, it was just Rayna, Deacon, and Daphne, who was becoming more and more of a social butterfly as she moved through her high school years.

Rayna had spent so many nights worrying that Daphne would grow sullen and moody as she edged into being a teenager—the girl had, after all, been through more than most adults. But Daphne had flourished, instead. If anything, she'd become even sweeter in her teenaged years. Rayna was grateful for that; in truth, she wasn't sure her heart could handle Daphne hating her as much as Maddie had during her own turn at those years. Daphne, though, let grudges go—she made friends, made good grades, and still gave Rayna and Deacon hugs, helped prepare family meals. Her baking skills had vastly improved, and she'd occasionally make cupcakes and cakes without any involvement from the fire department. _Progress_ , Rayna had said, the first time Daphne used the oven without the smoke detector going off.

With Daphne's burgeoning social life, Rayna and Deacon had found themselves—when they were home, which wasn't much what with touring and making records—alone a lot. Not that they were complaining; they certainly enjoyed each other, making love or fucking depending on their mood on pretty much every surface and every inch of that big, old house.

But, even as the echoes of their moans swelled around them, it became increasingly clear that the house had outgrown them. Plus, Rayna suspected, Deacon still thought of it as _her_ house, never fully comfortable in that huge house she'd shared with someone who wasn't him for over a decade.

They were sipping sweet tea at the kitchen table one humid summer morning. "I think we should move," Rayna said; the words left her lips as casually as though she'd been commenting on the weather.

Deacon paused mid-sip, his tea hitting his lips, "What?" He asked, his voice disbelieving.

Rayna smiled, "I think we should move," She repeated, nodding her head once.

Deacon set his glass down, closing the book he'd been reading and setting it on the table in front of him, "Ray, you _love_ this house."

She shook her head, "No. What I _love_ is my life with you." She shrugged, "This house is too big now." She bit her lip, "I want that house we always talked about," Her voice was quiet, floating through the massive kitchen.

Deacon nodded then, finally understanding. They'd made so many plans when they were younger—back then, they'd stay in bed all day and daydream of the music they'd create, the love they'd make, the family they'd have, the cozy home they'd make together. When everything fell apart between them, Rayna had bought the massive house—it was the exact opposite of everything she'd wanted to have with Deacon, the exact opposite of everything they'd talked about on those sweltering nights; she'd been trying to protect herself, like a house of concrete and brick could save her from the pain of the life they'd dreamt of sharing together falling apart. For a while, it had. Until it hadn't. And, anyway, she didn't need protection now.

So, they'd searched for a home, taking every free moment they had to drive around looking at options until one early fall morning, they'd found it: a beautiful house on the outskirts of the city with French windows and a wraparound porch, just like they'd imagined. When escrow closed a few months later, they'd spent a little over two weeks painting it a happy shade of yellow with a cream trim.

"You could pay someone to do that for you, you know." Maddie had told them when she came by to pick Daphne up for lunch one day.

"Yeah, Dad," Daphne had agreed, shielding her eyes against the sun to check out their slow-moving progress.

"Oh, really?" Deacon said, stepping out of the bushes, a paintbrush covered with yellow paint in his hand, "That may be true. But if we paid someone to do it, who would do _this_?" He asked the girls, grinning as he lunged at Rayna with his arm outstretched, smearing the wet paintbrush across her neck.

Rayna gasped, her hand flying up to her neck to touch the yellow paint now coating her neck. She took the roller she was using and swung it out at Deacon, catching him on the arm, a yellow streak trailing all the way to his hand.

"Oh, that's it," Deacon said, closing the gap between them, "You're gonna get it!" He said, bringing the paintbrush to her face; he placed a dollop of yellow paint on her nose while she struggled to fend him off then brought the roller up to his cheek.

Maddie rolled her eyes, "Come on, Daph," She said, "That's our cue," But she was smiling as they got in the car and drove away.

They _could_ have hired someone. It might have gotten done faster, it might have gotten done better, but then Deacon wouldn't know what making love to Rayna on the back porch while they were both covered in Dandelion yellow paint was like. And what it was like was the culmination of every happy memory he'd ever wanted but never thought he'd actually have—when they'd finished, sated, laughing, breathless, and near tears from the sweetness of it all, they swore they'd re-stain the porch soon with a nice cherry wood color to cover up the yellow paint that had transferred from their writhing bodies on to the floor of the porch, but they both knew they never would.

Now, Deacon moved to where Rayna was seated on the floor and held his hand out to her. Smiling at him, she took his hand and he pulled her up against him and kissed her gently on the lips.

"Unpacking can wait," He said, interlocking his fingers with hers and leading her out the sliding glass door into the backyard.

When she stepped onto the porch, the wood steady under her feet, she surveyed the yard and gasped. Lining the back fence was a small bricked off section filled with soil and mulch—placed sporadically in the yard were bricks in a circular pattern, also filled with soil.

Deacon smiled, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her neck. He planted a soft kiss where her neck met her shoulder, "Happy fourth anniversary, baby," Deacon said, lifting her hand up and opening her palm. He opened his fist and dropped seeds in her hand.

As she closed her fist around the seeds, feeling them pressing into her palm, she was transported back to a tiny cramped apartment, twenty-seven years ago, give or take.

 _And I want a garden_ , she'd whispered, _filled with flowers and vegetables and shady trees I can sit underneath in the summer_ , she finished, rounding out their imaginary yellow house on a quiet street.  
 _Baby_ , Deacon laughed, _you've never gardened a day in your life_.  
 _And, so what?_ She narrowed her eyes at him.  
 _You want a garden, baby?_ He'd asked, leaning over to tickle her as she laughed and nodded her head, _then I'll give you a garden_. _I'll give you anything you want, Ray._

"You're giving me a garden," She said, the words coming out on a breath.

Deacon nudged her hip with his hand so she turned to face him, "I'm giving you a garden, baby," He nodded, smiling, "We're gonna plant it together," He said.

She grinned, looping her arms around his neck, still clutching the seeds in her fist. She kissed him, running her tongue over his mouth—he tasted of coffee and that _thing_ that had always been Deacon, which she could never get enough of. He kissed her back, and they stood like that for a long time, kissing tenderly.

When the sun moved in the sky, Deacon pulled back from her, grabbing her free hand as they descended down the stairs of the back porch to plant their garden.

They planted Bellflowers, Begonias, and Petunias, their hands digging into the soil without gloves, the dirt creeping under their fingernails. They laughed as they planted the seeds, wondering when they would bloom and for how long. Then, Deacon led her over to the brick circles, the holes already dug. He went under the porch and retrieved three small trees; they planted them together, their hands joining to cover the soil over the roots— _peach, plum, and apple_ Deacon had told her, leaning in to kiss her, the smell of soil and Rayna heavy in his nose, the sweetest scent he could imagine.

When they were done, they sat on the back porch surveying their work—in years to come, vegetables would be planted in a slightly larger garden alongside the flowers, and the flowers would grow in beautifully every year, right on schedule; Rayna, it would turn out, was a natural gardener. The pinks, purples, and yellows would provide audience for their songs, as Deacon strummed his guitar, Rayna's soft voice carrying melodies through the backyard as the lightning bugs gave impromptu dances.

The trees, too, would flourish—they would grow tall and strong, and Rayna and Deacon would sit underneath them in the summers, enjoying the shade as they laughed, read, napped, made love.

The fruit would grow; it would ripen and sweeten. In much later days, their grandchildren would help them pick the fruit; the blondest one, a sweet little girl with her grandpa's eyes, would pick plums and carry them by the armful into the kitchen where her grandmother would scoop her up to sit on the sink as they washed the plums together. Her sisters and cousins would play in the backyard, running in circles, until they fell to the grass and stared up at the sky, pointing at pictures that passed by in the clouds, giggling when the clouds morphed into something else before their eyes. When the plums were clean, they would carry them outside and bite into them, laughing as the juice ran down their chins, not caring a bit for the mess. _After all,_ Rayna would say, winking at Deacon, _we've lived through bigger messes than this._

When the grandchildren had gone home, Deacon would lean over to kiss Rayna, his tongue sliding into her mouth, marveling that she still tasted of sweet plums, even hours later.

But, for now, as they stared at the garden, nothing looked different. The seeds were under the soil, waiting for their chance to grow, to root themselves to this place the way Deacon and Rayna had rooted themselves to each other a lifetime ago. Deacon reached his still soil gritty hand out and grabbed Rayna's hand. He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand, her skin still soft despite the soil that caked it.

"Now, that's a garden," He said, smiling as he looked out at the backyard, his thumb drawing invisible hearts on her hand.

When showers had been taken, nails had been thoroughly cleaned, and dinner had been eaten, Rayna situated herself on the couch next to Deacon. She propped her feet up the same box he was using as a footrest, her bare feet sliding into his own.

"You playin' footsy with me?" He turned his foot so it slid across hers.

Rayna laughed, "Maybe," She tapped her toe against his, "Remember last year?" She asked, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Deacon chuckled and buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent, "The whole thing?" He kissed the top of her head, "Anything in particular?"

"Our _anniversary,_ " Rayna smiled, "When you said you would be _very okay_ with me wearing sexy things to celebrate our anniversaries?"

Deacon's hand, which had been trailing light circles over her freckled shoulder stilled, "I do remember that," He said, his voice suddenly rough. "Very clearly, in fact," He whispered, as his mind thought back to that sexy leather bustier she'd been wearing.

"Did you mean it?" She asked, tilting her head up to look at him. She batted her eyes a bit, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"Baby," He said, smirking, "You know I did."

Rayna laughed, pushing herself up from the couch, "Oh, good," She said, her voice a bit of a singsong as she went over to the refrigerator.

Deacon followed her, his eyes watching her movements intently.

She pulled the door open and removed a basket of strawberries, "Because this year, I got you chocolate covered strawberries."

Deacon looked at the strawberries that she'd set on the counter: red, plump, and as naked as he'd been planning on getting her tonight, "Where's the chocolate?" He asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Well, now, see," She said, walking over to a little box on the counter labeled 'spices,' "That's where the _sexy_ part comes in," She pulled out a small jar accompanied by a small brush, holding both of them up for him to see.

Deacon swallowed, "Chocolate body paint?" He asked, his mouth suddenly dry as a shot of arousal ran through him.

Rayna bit her lip and nodded, grabbing the strawberries from the counter; she made her way down the hall to their bedroom. She didn't need to turn to see if he was following her. When she got to the bedroom, she turned around to face Deacon. Handing him the strawberries and chocolate paint, she smiled, her eyes full of desire. She shimmied out of her shorts and slipped her fingers under the hem of her t-shirt.

As she raised the fabric over her head, she dropped her voice, "Happy anniversary, babe," She said, tossing her shirt on the floor. Standing before him completely naked, she grinned wickedly, and then crawled on to the bed. Shedding his clothes, he climbed next to her, smiling as he twisted the cap off of the paint. He dipped his finger inside the chocolate and then pressed it to her lips, watching in awe as her tongue poked out to sweep along the edge of his finger.

He leaned down to kiss her, his tongue dipping inside her mouth, "Mm," He spoke against her mouth, "Delicious." He ran his tongue along her lips, "And I don't mean the chocolate," He murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Deacon had always loved chocolate, but he'd never known it could taste so sweet. He spent the next hour painting Rayna with dollops of chocolate—he put it everywhere: her neck, her breasts, the flat of her stomach, the inside of her thighs. He'd alternate between licking the chocolate straight from her skin and scooping the chocolate up with the strawberries, feeding himself or her, leaning down to catch any juice that happened to dribble down her chin as she bit into the strawberries he proffered. His favorite, though, he imagined, was licking the chocolate straight off her nipples, the little sound she made when his teeth grazed over her making him nearly uncomfortably hard. He could never get enough of that sound.

When the strawberries were finally gone, Rayna smirked at Deacon and dipped her finger into the paint, her eyes settling between his legs, his arousal evident. She reached out and ran her finger along his length, leaving a trail of chocolate behind. She pushed him down so he was flat on his back, and then she slid up on her knees and positioned her face directly over him—he gasped when she took him in her mouth, her tongue swirling around him in just the way he liked, in just the way that only she ever had. She continued her ministrations, making little sounds of pleasure in the back of her throat as Deacon moaned and gasped as she worked her mouth over him, until he reached his hand down and gently ran it over her hair.

"Baby," He rasped, "You gotta stop that or…" He thrust his head back on the pillow as she released him, then moved to straddle him.

Gripping him at his base, she sank down on him, enveloping him in one swift movement. He groaned at the sensation, and she began moving herself slowly up and down. Deacon watched her as she moved, his hands reaching up to play with her breasts. He smiled when he found them slightly sticky from the remnants of chocolate. She slid up and down on him with languid motions that had Deacon bunching the covers in his hand, willing himself not to come. Suddenly, she began moving faster, and Deacon perched himself up, reaching his hand between their bodies to touch her. When he did, she threw her head back and came, his name on her lips. He immediately followed her over the edge, groaning her name, and she collapsed on top of him, their breathing heavy.

He stayed inside her, his fingernails scratching lightly up and down her back as her breasts pressed against his chest. When their breathing had slowed, Deacon's head lolled to the side, taking in the pale blue of the bedroom, the yellow accents on the comforter now stained with a bit of chocolate.

Rayna lifted her head to look at him; noticing the smile on his face, she smiled, "What?" She asked, following his gaze around the room.

"I just… love you," He said, fixing his eyes on her. He brought his hand up to her head and smoothed her hair down, twirling a strand of it around his index finger, "I love this life we've built together," He whispered, his eyes shining.

Rayna turned her head and kissed his chest, her lips soft against his flesh, "I love you," She said, smiling against him, "And I love this life, too," She looked at him, her eyes filled with years of emotion, "I can't believe we're living it," Her voice broke a little, " _Finally_."


	5. Wood

_Wood_

* * *

 _I don't get many things right the first time.  
In fact, I am told that a lot.  
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles,  
and falls brought me here—_

 _And where was I before the day_  
 _That I first saw your lovely face?_  
 _Now I see it every day._  
 _And I know…_  
 _That I am, I am, I am the luckiest._  
 _-Ben Folds, "The Luckiest_ "

* * *

Bright white light filtered in to the downtown Nashville hotel room, falling through the blinds which Rayna had intentionally left open the night before. There was something about the light in hotel rooms that she could never put her finger on, but it felt different to her somehow. Like all the light had collected itself for years just to throw itself through this one window onto the impossibly white bedspread. She loved waking up to it, the light; she loved to feel it splaying across her face first thing in the mornings she spent not at home.

She smiled as she felt the weight of Deacon's arm around her middle. She reached down to grab his hand, unsure whether he was awake. She felt him squeeze her fingers and nuzzle his face into the back of her neck, and she smiled, his stubble rubbing roughly across her soft skin.

"Happy anniversary, Ray," He said, planting an opened mouthed kiss on the back of her neck.

His voice was even more gravelly than usual from sleep, and Rayna tucked her head into the pillow as a shot of arousal shot through her. The things he could do to her with that voice hadn't changed in five years of marriage; in fact, the things he could do to her with that voice—and other things—had only seemingly intensified in ways that never ceased to amaze her.

"Happy anniversary," She said, snuggling back into him; she felt him pressing up against her, his hardness evident, "Mm," She said, wiggling her ass against him, "Is this my present, babe?"

Deacon tightened his grasp around her middle and pulled her into him, "Wood?" He chuckled, "No, baby, this ain't your present," He leaned his head up and spoke into her ear, "But I can give it to you if you want." He smirked, pressing himself into her for emphasis.

Rayna gasped, then reached her hand behind her. Closing her hand over him, she turned her head to face him, "Oh," She nodded, biting her lip, " _I want_." She kissed him, sliding her tongue into his mouth, "I _definitely_ want you to _give it to me_."

Deacon lightly moved his hand across her stomach to press on her hipbone, turning her towards him in his arms, "Okay," He trailed his hand into the waistband of her panties, and then dipped a finger into her. He groaned when he found her already wet, then he slid second finger inside, "I'll give it to you," He whispered roughly, moving his fingers in and out of her at a tantalizingly slow pace.

He moved his body so he was positioned over her, supporting himself with his hand next to her head, his fingers continuing their languid work. Rayna let out a little moan, grasping his bicep with her hand as she reached her head up to kiss him.

She whimpered when Deacon removed his fingers, but smiled as he began tugging on her panties. She helped him kick them off, and then immediately felt him at her opening. He slid up and down her, gathering her wetness onto himself, teasing her as he bit her bottom lip. He repeated the motion, watching as her eyes fluttered closed and then open again as she watched him tease her.

"God, Deacon," She said, squirming underneath him, unable to take the sweet torture any longer, "Put it in." She reached down between them and grasped him at his base. Deacon inhaled sharply at the feeling of her impossibly soft palm around him. She grinned at him wickedly as she took her hand away, "Give it to me."

Deacon tipped his head back and groaned before he thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke.

Rayna cried out as her hands gripped his back, her fingers digging into his skin, trying to find purchase. Deacon dropped his head to her breast and sucked on her nipple through the fabric of her cotton tank top. Deciding he wanted to taste her flesh, he ripped her tank top up and placed his mouth on her bare nipple. As his mouth closed around her, Rayna arched her back into him, his name falling from her lips in a hurried gasp.

Deacon dropped one hand between them and moved his hand against her, lifting his head from her breast to watch her face as it contorted in ecstasy. He continued moving in her, his strokes long and hard, as he dropped his head back to her breast and bit her nipple gently, tugging on it with his teeth.

Rayna cried out and he felt her begin pulse; he picked up his pace as she convulsed around him, her head thrashing from side to side on the pillow as she came. Soon, he followed her over the edge, emptying himself into her and collapsing against her, breathless. He buried his head in her neck and kissed her softly, his lips enjoying the salty moisture he found there.

"Mm," She moaned as the throes of ecstasy made her bones into putty, her eyes closed as she breathed heavily. " _Wood_ is my favorite anniversary so far," She trailed her fingers up his back, her fingernails causing him to shiver. "And _did_ you ever give it to me." She sighed, clenching around him one final time.

Deacon chuckled as he pulled out of her, rolling on to his back. "Every year I think I couldn't love you more," He reached out for her hand, threading their fingers together, "But every year I do." He squeezed her hand, "I can't even remember who I was before you; I don't _ever_ want to remember who I was before you." He smiled at the ceiling, "I love you."

Rayna turned over to face him, letting their joined hands rest on his chest, she looked up at him, "I love you too, babe." She kissed his chest, "To think of where we were once, and where we are now…" She sighed, "Thank you for this life."

Rayna watched as a dark look passed over his face. Letting go of his hand, she propped herself up on her elbow so she could fully look at him. She reached her hand out and traced her fingers along his jaw, "What is it?" She asked, running her fingers over his lips.

He sighed, and closed his eyes, "Maddie turns 21 soon." He opened his eyes and looked at her, letting the fear he felt show.

Rayna leaned over him and kissed him softly on the lips, "Oh, babe," She said, searching his eyes, "You don't need to worry," She smiled, "Despite early indications to the contrary, Maddie has a good head on her shoulders."

He swallowed, "I… don't want her to have my demons, Ray."

"Maddie's demons are all her own," Rayna said, a sad look settling on her face, "Some of them I gave to her," She tapped her fingers on his chest, "But she's not an alcoholic, babe. You know that."

Deacon nodded, the dark look fluttering away. He snaked his hand up to her neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. Pulling her down to him, he kissed her deeply, not pulling away until they were both breathless.

Rayna rested her forehead against his, "I cannot wait to get back home," She said, "I can't wait to see our beautiful new hardwood floors!"

Deacon laughed, the sound filling the cozy hotel room, "You know, I never thought I'd be excited about hardwood floors, but here I am."

Rayna laughed, then rolled off him and out of the bed, sliding her jeans over her legs. They'd been in the hotel for a little over three weeks, the hardwood floors a joint anniversary gift to each other—it was one of the final pieces to their dreamhouse puzzle. Deacon had been in the studio nearly every day, finishing up the final touches on his solo album which Rayna refused to allow him to name _Songs for Rayna_ , but which they all were. For her part, Rayna had been running Highway 65, which was bursting with new talent, especially after she and Deacon's concept album hit the charts like a hammer. It crossed genres, taking the number one spot on nearly every single chart. As a result, Highway 65 was the hottest label in several towns, and Rayna was certainly glad her days bouncing checks all over Nashville were well and truly behind her as a label head.

Her phone bleeped, and she grabbed it from the nightstand, looking down at the new text message, "Daphne is enjoying dorm life. I don't know if we'll ever get her back," She chuckled as she held up her phone to Deacon, "She wants to stay with Maddie one more night," She shook her head.

Deacon grinned then slid out of bed and into his jeans, "Let her stay one more night," He fastened the button at the top of his fly, "I can think of a few more places around the house we need to christen."

Rayna dropped her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and crossed to where he was standing, "Oh, you can, can you?" She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"Mmhm," He nodded, his fingers trailing up her back and toying with the ends of her hair.

Rayna brought her hand to the front of his jeans and touched him, "Me too."

. . .

Deacon's truck was ambling down the tree lined road; Deacon kept casting glances at Rayna, watching her. She looked at him questioningly, but he just grinned. They were a few houses away from their home when she saw it.

She dropped her jaw and turned to look at him, an excited gasp falling from her mouth, "Deacon!" She exclaimed as they pulled into the drive. "I take it you _weren't_ at the studio these past few weeks?"

"Nope," He killed the ignition and grinned. Unclicking the seatbelt, he ran around the back of his truck and opened the door for her. Rayna stepped into their driveway into the warm sunshine.

She felt the tears spring to her eyes as she looked at Deacon, and then back to the yard where a white picket fence with a fresh coat of paint surrounded their home. Suddenly, she was back in a tiny one bedroom apartment with not even a balcony to it.

They were huddled under blankets, the heater having chosen to up and die on them two weeks prior; they shivered in between kissing and touching each other.  
 _Someday we're gonna have a place of our own, baby_. Deacon said, his arms moving up and down Rayna's arms to create warmth. _A house with a working heater and a water heater that spits out warm water every single time, no surprises. And hardwood floors.  
_ Rayna sighed, _And a hand-built white picket fence around it, our house_.  
Deacon arched his eyebrow, _You want me to build you a white picket fence, baby?  
_ Rayna bit her lip and nodded.  
 _I'll build you a fence, then. I'd build a thousand picket fences for you, Ray.  
_ Rayna grinned at him, _You'll have to build me 2.5 kids, then, too._ She looked at him seductively through her lashes.  
Deacon smirked at her, slipping his hand beneath the covers, _Oh, yeah?_ His hands slid down her body until he cupped her between her legs, _I can do that._ He kissed her neck, _Let's practice_.

Rayna reached out and touched a fence post, the wood sturdy and hard under her touch; not unlike the man standing next to her still after all these years. Deacon slung his arm around her as they looked at the fence. Rayna nestled into him, "We're half a kid short."

Deacon laughed as he squeezed her shoulder, "Maybe we should get a dog."

Rayna spun in his arm so she was looking up at him, "No way. The last time you got a dog, you met a vet."

Deacon kissed her forehead, "Yeah, well, back then you were sexing it up on stage with rockstars."

Rayna looked at him through her lashes, dipping her hands behind him to squeeze his ass, "Still am."

Deacon quirked his eyebrow at her, "Oh, I'm a Rockstar now, am I?"

Rayna smiled, "To me, you are." She leaned up and kissed his lips, "Thank you, babe." She pulled away from him, "But I thought we agreed that the hardwood floors were a mutual present."

Deacon nodded, his fingers caressing her lower back, "We did," He smiled at her, "But I couldn't resist."

Rayna laughed and pulled away from him, leading him up the front steps by his hand, "Well," She said, opening the hall closet in the entryway that housed their winter coats, "Neither could I." She reached behind the winter coats, well aware she would not be able to use this as a hiding place in future years, and extracted a large black guitar case with a big red bow on top. She closed the door and extended the case to him.

"What did you do?" Deacon asked, taking the case from her.

"Nothing," She smiled, sitting in the chair opposite the couch.

Deacon sat down on the couch and looked at her for a long moment before he unlatched the case and pulled it open. His brow furrowed in confusion, taking in the battered guitar before him—it hadn't been what he was expecting. Suddenly, the details he saw registered in his brain and his eyes snapped back up to hers, surprise registering on his face.

"Is this…" He asked, reaching his hand out to touch it. His fingers skated over the front; the finish was worn and there were numerous scuffs and scratches on the face—the mark of something well and truly loved, "Baby, is this…?" He asked, trailing off again. He looked at her once more, his eyes suddenly wet.

Rayna bit her lip, watching as his eyes fell back to the guitar. He pulled it out and set it in his lap, flipping it into position; his breath caught when he saw the engraving, staring right back at him. He knew it well. He had made it himself with a needle, etching it over and over again until it was deep enough and legible enough: _D. Claybourne_. His fingers traced over it, his fingernails scratching along his last name scarred into the wood of the 1950 Gibson.

"How in the hell?" Deacon asked, bringing his hand up to wipe his eyes; he sniffed, and gave a little laugh as he ran his fingers over the strings. They made a horrendous sound as he strummed them and he laughed harder.

Rayna shrugged, "Thought you might want to take care of that yourself." She smiled at him.

Deacon chuckled, turning the guitar over again in his lap, his fingers running reverently over the scrapes and scratches, most of which he recognized.

"How in the _hell_ did you find my first guitar, Rayna? I…" He trailed off again, shaking his head, not wanting to finish the sentence, knowing it hurt too much.

"Pawned it for pills?" Rayna asked, her eyebrows raised.

Deacon winced a bit, but nodded, "My biggest regret," He looked at her, at her hair falling over her shoulders in waves; he thought of the years they'd spent apart, and sorrow invaded his face, "One of 'em, anyway."

Rayna cleared her throat, "A collector had it down in Mobile." She nodded at the etching, "He put two and two together back then and held on to it." She smiled at him, "I thought you might like to have it back."

Deacon smiled, staring at the guitar. He remembered the first time he ever played it, a gift from his grandfather on his twelfth birthday. His small hands trying to make the chords; his hands shook after his first lesson and his fingers were red, but he was hooked. He'd lock himself in his room every day and practice, the strings drowning out every hateful noise in his house until all that was left was the music. The guitar had grown into a man with him, had stood up to his father with him, had left home with him. He'd brought the guitar from Mississippi, all the way to Nashville, and to a thousand cities in between. It was strapped to him the very first night he ever met Rayna, but he'd lost it by the time he lost her.

Deacon set the guitar gently on the cushion next to him, then leaned forward off the couch and crouched down in front of Rayna where she sat in the chair. He didn't try to hide his tears as he took her hands in his and kissed them, his lips brushing lightly over her knuckles.

"Thank you, baby," He whispered against her skin. He rose up so his lips could meet hers, "Thank you." He leaned forward and kissed her softly, gently.

Rayna brought her hands up to the side of his face; she swiped his tears away with her thumbs and kissed him back, enjoying the taste that had always been so uniquely him.

She pulled away from him and smirked, "I know we've already _christened_ this chair a thousand times over, but what do you say we do it again?"

Deacon grinned, then nodded. He let his hand wander down the side of her neck and over her chest, lightly brushing her nipple.

"I say _abso-fucking-lutely_ ," Deacon pulled his t-shirt over his head, then lifted Rayna's over her head.

"Good," Rayna said, reaching behind her and unclasping her bra, "Then afterwards, you can play me the first song you ever wrote for me on that guitar."

Deacon leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her bare breast, "I'd like that," Deacon whispered against her flesh, his hands making quick work of the button and fly on her jeans as he peeled them down her long slender legs.

When they were done, collapsing against each other with their hands still trailing invisible patterns over each other's skin, they laughed. They'd always been unable to get enough of one another. When their breath had been returned to them, Deacon tuned the old guitar and sang to her—his voice older and even more honeyed than when she first met him. The song that made her love him all those years ago somehow made her love him even more now, after all these years.

"This is all I ever needed, you know. All I _ever_ wanted." Deacon whispered, his arm slung around her shoulder as his Gibson rested in his lap, "Just my guitar and my girl." He leaned over and whispered in her ear in the way he knew always made her shiver, "Thank you for giving both of them back to me again."

* * *

 _A/N: When chapter 4 was posted, there was a site glitch, so I'm not sure everyone saw the 4_ _th_ _chapter for fruits/flowers posted. If not, it's there!_

 _This feels like a good natural stopping point for this story for now._


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